A 

LAWYER'S 

TRIALS 

A FARCE IN ONE ACT 



GEORGE ALBERT DROVIN 



m^ 



LAWYER'S 
TRIALS 



A FARCE IN ONE ACT 



BY 



GEORGE ALBERT DROVIN 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Received 

APR. 24 1901 

Copyright entry 

CLASS sQxXc. N». 

COPY B. 






copyright, 1 90 1, 
by George Albert Drovin. 



CHARACTERS 

Burton Coke, a young lawyer. 
Dorothy Ring, an heiress. 



SCENE ; Coke's Office. 



TIME: To-Day. 



Law office of Burton Coke. Door in back, left of center. 
Windows, R. and L. Desk, R., with office chair. Chair L. 
Typewriter on stand, R. of door. Coke discovered sitting in 
chair R., with feet on desk, reading a newspaper, and smoking 
a pipe. After studiously examining the paper for a while, he 
puts it down, and continues smoking, thoughtfidly . 

Coke. If the length of time a lawyer waits for his first 
case is any indication of his greatness, I ought to be famous, 
unless I starve to death in the interval. {Though /fully.) Let 
me see. Blackstone waited many years for his first brief, and 
our own Horace Binney was not much better off. But they 
must have had money to fall back on. When I fall back, I 
shall have nothing but the cold, cold ground beneath me ; 
and I am likely to strike that before long, with a thud of the 
variety described as dull and sickening. 

I am not a fool ; I can reason clearly ; and I know the 
law. Besides, I have the incentive of ambition to do my 
work well. Yet the public lack confidence in me. They 
object to my youth, as if youth were a crime. Well, that is 
a thing I will recover from, if I live long enough ; but the 
immediate prospects of a recovery are very slight. I am 
likely to die before the cure is effected. If the public only 



knew that the majority of the opinions, for which they pay 
old practitioners such high prices, were the work of the young 
assistants in the offices of the seniors, perhaps they would be 
more gracious to the struggling younger members of the 
bar. (Rising- and pacing up and down?) Oh, if I had just 
one big case, I would show them what I could do ! All I 
need is just a foothold on the ladder of fame, and I shall 
soon rise to the top, where riches and other pleasant things 
are to be found. Perhaps I shall find Miss Ring — Dorothy — 
at the top. Who knows? Now, isn't it annoying to love a 
girl to distraction, and not to be able to tell her so, just 
because you are poor? Love is all very well in its way, but 
it is likely to be very much in the way when a fellow has no 
money. 

{Knocking heard at the door?) 

Coke. Hello ! Who's that, I wonder ? Come in ! 

{Enter Dorothy, disguised as a book-agent?) 

Dor. I beg pardon ; is Mr. Coke in ? 

Coke. I am Mr. Coke. What can I do for you ? 

Dor. You can do a great deal for me, if you will. 
Indeed, I am sure you are just the man I want. 

Coke. I do not think that you will have cause to regret 
your choice. Will you be seated ? 

(She sits in chair, which he brings over to the desk from 
L. He sits at the desk.) 

Dor. Thank you. 

Coke. Now, just state your case as directly as possible. 

Dor. Well, you see, I am a poor girl, and my landlord 
is a grasping fellow, who wants his rent promptly on the day 
it is due. 

Coke. Ah, yes! 

Dor. I have no father ; and my mother is ill, so I 
must support her. 

Coke. Too bad ! 

Dor. Therefore, I have taken to selling this book. 
(Opens satchel, and takes out volume. Coke manifestly dis- 



5 

appointed.) It is called "Asylums I Have Inhabited," by 
E. P. Liptic. 

Coke. Never heard of Liptic ; who is he? 

Dor. Oh, he's an authority on mental disorders ! 

Coke. But, really, I have no possible use for such a 
book. 

Dor. It is very cheap, I am sure. It costs only a 
dollar down, and a dollar every month for four months ; and 
the book is yours right away. 

Coke. But I am not interested in asylums. 

Dor. No ; but you might be. 

Coke {aside ; ruefully). That's very true. 

Dor. Beg pardon ? 

Coke. I did not say anything. 

Dor. Oh, I thought you did. 

Coke. No. 

Dor. No? I thought maybe you said that you would 
buy it. 

Coke. But I don't want it. I have my professional 

books to buy, and they cost like h {catching himself Just 

in time) — hot-cakes. 

Dor. They ought to be cheap, then. 

Coke. Well, this sort of hot-cakes is not. - It is the 
very expensive kind. Look at this work, now {taking vol- 
umes from top of desk); I bought that at second hand, and it 
cost me nine dollars. 

Dor. Nine dollars ! What wasteful extravagance ! 
You should not have done it. Now, had you bought my 
book, you would have saved money, besides owning a per- 
fectly new copy. You see, it costs but five dollars — one 
dollar down, and one dollar a month. 

Coke. But the work I have is useful to me in my pro- 
fession ; yours is not. 

Dor. How do you know ? You might have a client in 
an asylum, some day ; and he might be in one of the asylums 
spoken of in this work ; and the keepers might not treat him 
well ; and you might be able to get your inside informa- 



tion from this book. {With conviction.) Oh, you can't tell; 
you can't tell ! {With energy.) And think how cheap it is ! 

Coke. I am afraid the possibility is too remote. I can- 
not take it. 

Dor. {tearfnlly.) And I had counted on getting your 
order ! 

Coke, {rising.) I am sorry ; but you made a miscalcu- 
lation. 

Dor. {weeping.) I have not taken an order to-day; and 
I did so want to tell mother that I had made some money ! 

Coke, {disconcerted.) Don't cry. There, there ; for 
Heaven's sake, don't cry so ! 

Dor. [sobbing.) But — I — c — can't help — help it ! 

Coke, (opening his pocket book and taking ont bill.) Here; 
here's five dollars to pay for the book. You may send me 
a copy. No doubt I will find it useful. 

Dor. {joyfully}) Oh, thank you ; thank you ! I will 
have it sent up, this afternoon. {Handing Jam a memorandum 
book.) Just put your name and address in this book, if you 
please. {He writes in book.) That's it. Thank you. You 
have been very good to me. Good-morning ! 

{Exit Dorothy.) 

Coke, {looking after her) Well ; of all things ! Con- 
found these woman book agents ! they would weep a fellow 
out of his last cent. Oh, I shall never succeed at the law ! 
I am too soft hearted. I am ; yes, I am. Now, I have paid 
five good dollars for something I do not want, and cannot 
use, just because she let loose the torrents of her sorrow. 
{Suddenly.) I'll bet that was just a trick on her part ! 
But then a fellow can't see a girl cry, you know ; it doesn't 
do. The only way to dam those tears was to buy — [Dis- 
gustedly.) "Asylums I have Inhabited " ! Now, wouldn't 
that give you the nightmare! "Asylums" — well, I think 
that I am a fit candidate for one, myself. The next book- 
agent who comes here, shall find that I am out ; or, if I can- 
not escape in that manner, she shall find that I already pos- 



sess the particular work and edition that she has to sell. 
And I'll have it, too ; if only in my mind ! 

{Knocking heard at door.) 

Coke, {hurriedly sitting at desk). I wonder if that's 
another? Come in ! 

{Enter Dorothy, disguised as a Salvation Army Lassie.) 

Dor. Is this Mr. Coke ? 

Coke. It is. 

Dor. I'm so glad. 

Coke {aside). So am I. {To her.) Did you want to 
see me? 

Dor. Of course. 

Coke. Why, of course ! How absurd a question ! 

Dor. Wasn't it? 

Coke. Yes, it was. Won't you be seated? 

Dor. {sitting). Thank you. Now, Mr. Coke, your name 
has been given me by one of your friends, as a man charitably 
inclined. 

Coke {aside). Well, if I had that fellow here I would 
punch his head. 

Dor. {continuing). And as a young lawyer, who is rap- 
idly rising in his profession. 

Coke {aside). That's a good reputation to have circu- 
lated ; but all my friends know better than that. ( With de- 
termination}) Oh, he's a deep one ! Let me just get my 
hands on him ! 

Dor. Therefore, I make bold to ask you for a small 
subscription in aid of our Home for Indigent Bums. It is a 
very worthy charity, designed to take care of tramps when 
they can no longer work at their profession. 

Coke. I have no interest in tramps. 

Dor. But you should have. Just put yourself in their 
place. 

Coke. That's just where I'll be, if people like you do 
not leave me in peace. 

Dor. Why, Miss Ring told me that you would help me ! 

Coke {astonished). Miss Ring ? 



8 

Dor. Yes. 

Coke. Was she the friend who told you about my inter- 
est in tramps and such things? 

Dor. Yes. 

Coke {aside, and with resignation). I see the marriage 
day fading off into the dim distance. {To her.) Well, if Miss 
Ring was the one who sent you here, of course I shall be glad 
to help you. Here {again opening pocket-book, and taking out 
note) ; take this. It is all I have, at present. Very glad to 
oblige, I'm sure. 

Dor. How generous ! Five dollars ! You have done 
a noble work, sir ; a noble work ! {Rising.) Good morning. 

{Exit Dorothy) 

Coke. That settles it ! That is the end ; the very end ! 
The next woman who enters my office, leaves it before she 
can state her business. I believe every woman in this con- 
founded building is, under one guise or another, seeking 
charity. But no other need hope to find me willing to give 
faith to her story. That last bill was the last in very truth. 
{Puts hand in trousers pocket, and takes out a few small coins) 
I have exactly twenty-five cents in change — all my available 
assets. Hardly enough with which to buy a decent lunch. 
Dorothy ! Dorothy ! Why did you get me into this scrape? 

{Someone knocks at the door. Coke evidently does riot 
hear it.) 

Coke {continuing). If you keep on at this rate, I shall 
never be able to ask you to marry me. 

{Knocking continues. Woman's voice heard, "Anybody 
in?"). 

Coke. Now, that's another woman. I'll not let her in. 
{Sits at a desk.) Keep at it. I'll not hear you. 

{Knocking continuous) 

Coke. {Writes. Knocking grows more vigorous). You'll 
get tired after awhile. {Rising, impatiently, and rushing to 
the door) Confound you ! What do you {flinging it open) 
want ? {Perceives Dorothy ivitJiout, in her own proper person) 



He is visibly embarrassed?) Why, Miss Ring, this is an 
unexpected pleasure ! 

Dor. It must have been, indeed. I am sure you kept 
me waiting long enough. 

Coke {embarrassed). My fault, entirely. 

Dor. Of course it was. 

Coke. Really, I cannot find words to express my regret. 

Dor. Are you sure you were not alseep ? 

Coke. Positive. Never more wide awake in my life. 

Dor. Then you heard my knocking? 

Coke. I was deeply absorbed in the intricacies of an 
important problem. 

Dor. How exciting ! 

Coke {thinking of his rush to the\door). Yes ; yes. {Sud- 
denly recollecting himself. Aside?) What am I saying, any- 
how ? 

Dor. I was in the neighborhood, and thought I would 
stop in to see how you were fixed. 

Coke. Now, that was handsome of you ? 

Dor. I suppose you are very busy ? 

Coke. I have never worked harder than I have this 
morning. {Aside). Which is the gospel truth. 

Dor. Just look at all those books ! Do you have to 
study them all ? 

Coke. They are mostly books of reference — reports 
and digests, chiefly. By the way — speaking of digests — it is 
about lunch time, I think. You will surely come out to lunch 
with me? 

Dor. I shall be delighted. 

Coke. Where do you prefer to go ? 

Dor. I shall leave that entirely to you. 

Coke. Suppose we go Good Lord ! (Aside.) I 

entirely forgot that that confounded Salvation Army freak 
took my last note. 

Dor. Why, what's the trouble ? Aren't you well ? 

Coke. Never felt worse in my life. 



IO 

Dor. Oh, dear ! What shall I do ? I hope you are 
not going to faint. 

Coke. Never ! That is one bad habit I have never 
acquired. 

Dor. Let me run for the doctor. [Starts towards the 
door.) 

Coke {stopping her). Don't do that ! 

Dor. But, what is it? 

Coke (aside). There's nothing left for me to do but to 
tell her. Now, isn't this awful ? (To her.) I suppose, Miss 
Dorothy, there is no way out of the matter, but for me to 
make a clean breast of the whole affair. 

Dor. I do not understand. 

Coke (with conviction). But you will though, before I've 
finished. I was so overcome with pleasure at your unex- 
pected visit, that I completely forgot that I had spent practi- 
cally all my money this morning. 

Dor. But how were you going to eat? 

Coke. Fortunately, my bunco steerers left me some 
small change ; but not enough to buy a meal for two. That 
is all I have to tide me over Sunday. To-day being Saturday, 
the banks close at twelve o'clock, and it is now after that ; so 
you see how awkward is my position. 

Dor. Let me help you. 

Coke. Couldn't think of it. 

Dor. But you must. I am responsible for all this. 

Coke. You ? 

Dor. Yes. I was that book-agent. 

Coke (amazed). The deuce you were ! 

Dor. And the Salvation Army lassie. 

Coke. You don't mean it! 

Dor. (reproachfully.) And you never knew me ! 

Coke. What a thick-skulled chump I am, to be sure ! 

Dor. This time, however, I come with good news. 

Coke. Yes ? 

Dor. What would you say if I told you that I had 



II 

secured for you the position of assistant solicitor for the 
Bluestone Steel Company ? 

Coke. I would say what I have always thought — that 
you are the only angel this side of Heaven. 

Dor. That's putting it pretty strong ; but we will dis- 
miss all that as irrelevant, immaterial, and impertinent — that 
is the phrase you lawyers use, isn't it? {He nods.) You 
know, father is a director in that company ; and I have been 
requesting him for some time to give you a chance. 

Coke. That was awfully good of you, Miss Dorothy. 

Dor. {ignoring the remark, and going on with her story, 
as if no interruption had occurred). So, as soon as a vacancy 
occurred, he had you appointed to the place ; which pays its 
occupant three thousand a year. 

Coke. And you bring me the news, yourself? 

Dor. Yes. 

Coke. Why ? 

Dor. {blushing) I don't know. I thought maybe you 
— might prefer to learn of it in that way. 

Coke {coming close to her). So I would, Miss Dorothy ; 
so I would ; and I cannot thank you enough for what you 
have done. This gives me the right to say what has long 
been in my heart to tell you, but that poverty kept me silent. 
I love you. Do you think that you could be happy with me ? 

Dor. {with a little sigh) I am willing to try. 

{Silence for a while.) 

Coke. Why did you come here disguised ? 

Dor. I wanted to see what manner of man you were, 
when you did not have on your company manners. 

Coke. And you found me pretty cross and unkind. 

Dor. Yes ; just cross enough to help a poor girl whom 
you believed to be in distress ; and unkind enough to give 
money to a Salvation Army recruit, because I recom- 
mended her to call on you. {Looking him over slavly.) On 
the whole, I think you'll do. 

Coke. I shall try my best. 



12 

Dor. {warningly). But no more references to hot- 
cakes. 

Coke, {smiling). That was a narrow escape; wasn't it? 

Dor. And no more extravagence. 

Coke, {with determination). I shall hold on to my 
money with an iron grasp, and shall not even give you enough 
for an Easter bonnet. 

Dor. {smiling). Well, I shall make an exception, in 
that case. 

Coke. Do you know, that Salvation Army costume was 
very becoming ? 

Dor. {in horror). You are not going to make me wear 
that, all the time ? 

Coke. I don't know. Tell me ; how did you manage 
to change your costumes so quickly? 

Dor. My friend, Mrs. Barnes, the woman physician, has 
offices just across the corridor. I dressed and made up in 
her private room. My training in amateur theatricals came 
in useful, in every part of the frolic ; and I am well satisfied 
with the result. 

Coke, {ruefully). You ought to be. You held me up 
for all I had. ( With resolution). I will lunch with you, to-day, 
after all ; but the waiter shall present the check to you ; and 
you, in penance for your clever ruse, shall pay it. 

{Tableau.) 
{Curtain.) 



